


salvage all we've got

by hissingmiseries



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, M/M, One Shot, Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10115099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hissingmiseries/pseuds/hissingmiseries
Summary: "Olivia?" Sandra's gone grey at the roots. She stands in the doorway, holding herself, letting all the heat out of the house.The wind whistles, loud and insistent. Liv feels her throat dry up. "Mum.""Oh, Liv," Sandra sighs; her eyes are very dark. "What the hell have ya done?"Or, unable to cope with her brother's conviction, Liv packs a bag and runs away.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imaginentertain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginentertain/gifts).



> for jen, aka the most underrated author in this fandom tbh. and thanks to everybody who cried with me over rob/liv, especially fiona and claudia. where would i be without you both <333
> 
> contains: angst over canon-typical themes (aaron's conviction, sandra's neglect, rob's stress); references to drug abuse/addiction; implied illness; choppy af narrative. heavy mentions of rob/aaron, references to gordon and the trial. i did as much research as possible but getting a fifteen-year-old across the country without being noticed takes a bit of rule-bending.
> 
> takes place several weeks after aaron's sent down. nobody is in a good mental state tbh.

 

-

 

She decides to take a video, in the end. A note is less personal and whatnot but she doesn't want Robert to think she's ungrateful. He might think it sometimes and to be fair, she has no idea how she can say thank you to him yet without getting that funny feeling in her stomach. So she doesn't. 

He's in his room, fast asleep. Restless and unhappy-looking, but asleep.

Her face takes up most of the screen. It's early, her bedroom not yet sunlit. The overhead lightbulb needs changing. 

"Hey, Rob," she says. "This is, um—this is. So. I have to—I want to go. I think I have to. And I wanted to—get a video so you wouldn't think I was, like, kidnapped or sommat." She breathes, wets her lips. "'s just me. Leaving. I'm going to me mum's. I know I said I didn't want to, but I wanted to kinda—y'know. Get away from it all. I know you want the same sometimes."

The village is unnaturally quiet. Usually around this time, she can hear foxes around the bins. Or somebody's weight shifting down the stairs. 

"I've written to Aaron. Well, I've got the letter here—" Liv reaches aside, reveals a white envelope. "'nd I know you won't be awake 'till late, so it'll be in the post before ya can stop it. Gabby doesn't know, so don't, like, harass her, 'cause I haven't told her. Um. Yeah."

She has never been good with words.

"Don't work too hard, I guess. Your headaches are bad enough. Um. We need more milk. Have a laugh with Vic tomorrow. I, er—"

Her eyes flick to the right, to the floor, then back to the screen. The seconds seem to stretch.

"Thanks, Robert. For—y'know."

 

"Gabs?" she whispers, into the phone. "Gabby?"

A voice replies, thick with sleep. "Liv? It's like, two in the morning—"

"Gabby, I'm running away." She says it quickly, the words smushed together. It feels good to get it out.

A cough. "What ya on about?"

"I'm going home."

"You're _at_ home," Gabby says, pointedly. Liv squeezes her eyes shut. "Unless you're not; shit, Liv, where are ya?"

"No, no, I'm at the Woolie. I just—I'm going to me mum's. Tomorrow."

The penny finally drops, followed by a sharp gasp. "Liv, ya can't just _go_ , Robert's gonna freak out. I thought ya said the doc—"

"Don't make me feel any worse about this, Gabs."

Most of her things are in her bag, sat at her feet. She always used to keep one half-packed in her wardrobe, but one day she unpacked it all and it never found its way back together. 

"Okay," Gabby says, grimly. "So you're just gonna—go to Dublin?"

It sounds simple like that, invitingly so. Liv wishes it were all just a case of boarding passes and catching a bus. "Yeah. I've Googled it all: cheapest flights I could find were twenty quid, and I'm fifteen so I can fly by meself."

"You're _flying_?"

"Yeah," Liv says. "Can't board a ferry yet, I need someone with me."

"And ya obviously can't ask Robert," Gabby fills in; her bedsheets rustle in the background. "Shit, Liv. I thought ya hated going to ya mum's."

She swallows. "I do. But I can't stay here. I just—can't."

"'s alright," Gabby says, with new-found urgency. "It's alright. I get it."

And Liv smiles, little and to herself. "I'm going tomorrow morning. Early, like, before Rob wakes up. Meet me at the green?" Her voice goes up at the end, trails off slightly, unsure. 

But then Gabby smiles too, audibly, and says, "Course. Like I wouldn't."

She'd love to run away with Gabby; they've talked about it before, dreamed about it. Those days when the world felt like it was going to fall in; she felt small, and then she'd talk to Gabby and feel big again.

But she can't. Gabby has little Arthur, and littler Dotty and Laurel, the littlest of them all, to look after. 

So, she's going to go on her own. 

It's not like she's never done it before.

 

 -

 

The morning is crisp and cold, taut with fog. Liv's never been here so early but she almost prefers it like this: dew-drenched, untouched. It's like freshly-fallen snow, the type you hate to walk on.

Gabby is sat on the bench, shivering in a blue bomber jacket. Her hair's in a tornado around her head and her freckles are dark against her cheeks.

"Robert is gonna lose it," she hisses flatly, in greeting. " _Aaron_ is gonna lose it."

"Yeah, well," Liv shrugs. "Aaron can't do nothing about it, and I'll be gone before Rob's up, so—"

There's a sigh; Liv can't tell if it's Gabby or the wind. "I can book a ticket with ya. Get a taxi. It's not hard, Jake does it all the time." She's pleading ever so slightly, eyes wide and sparkly in the dawn. 

Liv shakes her head. She'd found the tickets early, booked them before her hand could freeze up. "I'll come home if stuff goes wrong. Not that it will, I mean, I've done this before."

"What, caught a plane by yourself?"

"Yeah." Her eyes find her shoes; it sounds scary phrased like that, _by yourself_. "Every time I've been to me mum's."

"Have ya rang your mum?" 

Again, "No." 

Gabby's shoulders tense up a little. "Ya probably should, Liv. What if she's out or sommat when ya turn up?"

"She definitely will be if she knows I'm coming," Liv deadpans. She stares Gabby in the eyes and Gabby stares back.

Gabby cracks first; her voice goes quiet, baby-like. "Is going to ya mum's the best idea?"

"Probably not," Liv mumbles, flattening grass beneath her feet. "But where else am I supposed to go?"

And Gabby deflates into the bench, tearing at the skin around her fingernails and understanding her, understanding it all. It's the same with her and Laurel, kind of, as Liv with Robert: there are so many things she could say to Laurel, things she _could_ tell her—and Laurel would listen—but it wouldn't be _fair_ to, and she loves her enough to want to spare her all that.

"Don't, like, get into any weirdo's car," Gabby says, in some feeble attempt at humour. The air feels heavy around them, clingy and suffocating, pierced with rising sunlight. 

Liv chuckles. "I dunno, I think I'd make a nice skin suit."

There are tears in Gabby's eyes, the beginnings of them forming in the corners. She dabs at them with her sleeve.

"Text me as soon as ya get there, yeah?"

Liv nods. "Text me if Robert asks ya anything. I told him ya didn't know—I left a note, kind of—but I doubt he'll fall for it."

An age-old story: Gabby hates Robert and Robert hates Gabby. It's cemented—their deep, mutual distaste. Liv thinks it stems from that time they got drunk in the back room of the Woolie and threw up all over the sofa and Robert made them clean it up. He's a mean arsehole sometimes.

 

Gabby leaves as the sun comes up. She hands Liv a small bottle and says, "If ya want to feel like a different person."

It's jet black, liquidy, the colour of coal. It'll make her nails look like black holes. "Like you, ya mean?"

Gabby shrugs. "Like anyone," she replies. "It works, though. Makes ya feel older. Trust me, I put it on all the time."

She leaves and Liv pulls out the wand, watches the bristles glisten. She thinks, suddenly, that a lot of things about Gabby now make sense.

 

-

 

Liv gets a bus then another bus to the airport. She thought it would be calming, all that time, but it's horrible. Her stomach knots itself intricately with every stop that whizzes past:  _Harrogate Road. Henley Road. Sunnybank Avenue._

She reads her flight times on her phone. Eleven o'clock, on the dot. Robert will be awake by then; probably only just, definitely not dressed. Too late for a mad dash to the airport to stop her. 

She reads about  _effects of chronic stress_. It becomes a blur when the words  _depression and anxiety_ and  _nausea and dizziness_ and fucking  _stroke_ appear. Before she really knows it she's crying, there, in her seat. She cries quietly; nobody notices. She's always been a quiet crier. Her mum would always kind of ignore it but Aaron would come up to her and stroke her hair and she'd burrow herself into his side, and Aaron would say,  _I'll fix it, Liv_ , and he would.

But Aaron's not here anymore. So she cries quietly, and nobody notices, and she swallows down anything more.

 

She gets out at the airport stop. Her bag is slung over her shoulder; she's used to running, she knows how to pack lightly. It's a long, rectangular drag of a building with its name in big letters, and above her head a plane cuts swathes in the sky.

Her hands are shaking. It's not like this is anything new. Whenever her mum calls her over to Dublin, this is what she does: packs her bags, checks in. Hugs Aaron goodbye before boarding.

The air smells like smog. Emmerdale is well and truly gone now.

That's something else: she wonders if that's something Aaron will forget, the smell of the village. Twelve months is a long time. He's been away for longer before, Chas told her, when he was running just like her. She wonders if he came back and thought, _why has everything changed_ , or _why has nothing changed?._

Prison must smell horrible. All dark and angry and soulless.

 

-

 

Her phone starts buzzing when she sits in the diner. Caffè Ritazza, sipping a hot chocolate. The steam makes her face all red and blotchy.

The screen wakes up. _Robert_ flashes across the screen, beneath a phone symbol with a number _3_ next to it.

It's half nine in the morning. Huh. This is early for him.

 

She doesn't answer it, of course; just lets it ring out. It goes all the way through to voicemail then finally stops.

The airport is starting to fill up with people trying to get the early flights but miss the lunchtime rush.  Nobody gives her a second look, the teenager with a backpack and the washed-out face. It must be a common sight at places like this.

There's so much time to kill. She finishes her drink and wanders around the shops, occupies herself. Anything to stop herself changing her mind.

 

-

 

Robert calls three more times before stopping. Her phone vibrates and feels harsher than usual.

She weaves in and out of the shops, spending her last useless pounds on equally useless stuff. A magazine on animals or something from the paper store, a bottle of Coke, a pair of cheap earphones. They crackle and pop when she plugs them into her phone, turns on whatever music she finds rattling around in Spotify: punk, hardcore. Nice and loud.

 

Check in goes easily enough. Her passport is looked at and the woman behind the desk looks very, very tired. Her eyeliner is dramatically uneven.

Liv grimaces at her own passport photo; she's very young and very blonde and her yellow-toned skin makes her look like she's got some sort of liver problem. It's not too bad, though. Robert has brown hair in his, and Aaron's passport photo is fucking hideous.

Aaron's passport still says _Livesy._ He pretends it doesn't bother him but it does.

She sighs and snaps it shut, but it's too late: she's crying again. Soft and quiet and hiccupy, like always.

 

-

 

"When's your flight?" Gabby asks, phone wedged between her ear and shoulder. She's in school, round the bike shed with Jacob, sharing a cigarette.

Liv watches the boarding queue for Paris filter down. "Eleven o'clock."

"Oh, soon then."

Jake's voice butts in, wavering with puberty. "Everything alright, Liv?"

"Yeah, Jake, don't worry," she says. "It's like, a two-hour flight. I'll just go to sleep."

"Do ya think you're coming back?" he asks, deadpan like he already knows her answer. Which would make him fucking psychic, because Liv bites her lower lip and feels her mind go blank.

She eventually says, "Probably. Me mum will—probably just stick me on the first plane back."

"And if she doesn't?"

Liv breathes out, soft and shuddering, and it kind of tumbles onto her like a pile of bricks that this is serious business. "Then I'm staying, till Aaron comes home."

Gabby and Jacob share a look. Liv hears all of it.

 

-

 

She boards at 11.03 and finds her seat; it's a window seat, thankfully, far at the back where people won't talk to her. She turns her phone off and it feels like letting go.

Leeds turns into a doll's house beneath her. There's no turbulence and soon she's gliding, high up amongst blue; the little screen on the seat in front has a map, showing a plane travelling across a thick yellow line to Ireland. 

 

Robert hates flying. Aaron loves it, says it makes him feel like a bird but Robert just cowers in his seat and waits for it all to be over. Liv's indifferent about it all: depends on the destination, really. She also once watched Cast Away on a flight, which she thinks was a cruel trick by the stewards and it basically paralysed her for the entire journey. 

(She also cried when Wilson disappeared. Shh. Aaron never let her live that down.)

 

She wishes she could call Aaron. It's weird, not being able to. After he went away, she mindlessly called his mobile number and heard a ringing come from his bedroom, tucked in his drawer. Then it sunk in a bit: everything would work on a schedule now. Because Aaron was on one, everybody else would be on one too, whether they realised it or not. Here's the window in the day when you can call him, here's the window you can see him: things revolve around him, even when he's away. Like he's the sun; you can't help it.

It's not right, the sun being locked away like he is. The idea of Aaron—caring, kind, Aaron who loves her—being controlled? It doesn't add up. He's been through it before and he's type of person who'd vow to never let himself be controlled like that again. That's why he took Gordon to court, right? To cut his strings.

 

 

He seemed fine for the first few days. Unnaturally fine, like it was all building up, about to blow over.

Then she got the phone call: Aaron's in trouble.

Aaron is  _so_ in trouble.

Things pieced together instantly: the way he was when she visited, all shifty and twitchy and unfocused. Like he was looking through her, like she wasn't there.

Robert had yelled at him. Not loudly but harshly, forcing the words through his teeth and it looked like that hurt more. He wasn't angry, just sad; the appeal was on the line and Aaron's health was in bits and Robert was having a quiet aneurysm somewhere in the back of his head. 

She could have predicted what happened afterwards right there, in that visiting room. Clear as day.

 

The tannoy sounds: they're coming in to land in half an hour.

Sleep is a pipe dream at this point, so she busies herself with whatever. Her magazine is boring; there's pictures of kittens on the first page, little blobs with no fur that cry a lot because they miss their mum and Liv understands that. The only movies available are sad or romantic, and she's all cried out today, she can't be bothered to do it anymore.

 

-

 

She heard a lot, the last time she was with her mum. She rang home and checked in every day. 

Gabby and Jacob were an on-and-off thing. Robert and her brother were getting ready for Vegas. Aaron was happy; he was over Rebecca, he wasn't jealous anymore. He looked at Robert like how you look at mountains and sunsets and their bags were packed and they were ready.

 

There was a fight. Chas told her everything down the phone between gulps of air. Her mum asked  _Liv, are you okay_ but she wrapped her arms around herself and couldn't breathe, didn't know what to do. She had gotten used to feeling helpless, between Gordon's tricks and looking after her mum, but that didn't make it hurt any less. It just meant that the ache was familiar.

For some reason, she called Robert first. He answered after eight rings and just said:  _Liv._ He couldn't explain it and honestly, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know.

 _He's in a cell right now, Liv,_ he said. His voice was shaking.  _I'm going to talk to people, see what I can do._

 

 _Why did he do it,_ she asked. 

He didn't say anything, for a very long time.

 

Aaron got twelve months. He got attacked in prison and then he got high.

Liv heard about that, too.

 

-

 

The plane lands at the airport. It's one o'clock, the sky's threatening clouds. It's definitely Dublin; Liv can tell from the way it looks and the way it smells and the way the sunlight falls across her hands.

It's busy now, suffocatingly so. She has to push through the duty-free to find a small café, tucked away in the corner, near the exit; she doesn't realise how hungry she is until a man in a pinny approaches her and asks if she wants to order in a thick accent.

"Um," she says, looking up. "Just an orange juice, ta."

He disappears with a smile and she sighs, leans back. The seats are cheap, faux leather.

 

She turns her phone on because she promised Gabby she'd text, and she never breaks promises to Gabby. The screen goes bright and it is silent for a second, deceivingly so, before the assault of missed calls and texts plough into her inbox. Mostly from Robert, a few from Chas and Vic and Noah. She deletes them all and pretends they never existed.

 _just landed, s_ he tells Gabby.  _flight was fine. x_

Gabby replies with a selfie of her and Noah and a  _stay safe. x_

 

There's many ways she can get to her mum's from here: she knows the taxi number like the back of her hand and if that fails, a bus will do. 

She doesn't really want to take any of them.

But she's here now, in Ireland. She already misses the village and its smell and the way it shines in the sun but at least here, she feels safe. 

Not that she doesn't feel safe in the village; she just felt, what's the word, ineffable. After Aaron went away there were so many words, swirling and twisting and knotting inside of her, but then Robert started getting bad and Chas said she was going to Prague and all the words stuck in her throat. 

She thinks, _it's not too late to go back._ But Robert's pulled taut and he's probably going to fucking glare and Liv just—doesn't need it. She has been enough trouble for Robert; she's always been enough trouble for Aaron. She knows Robert wants her to stay but sometimes she thinks, sometimes  _knows_ , that things would be easier for everyone if she were to just, _disappear_.

 

 -

 

Her letter will be on the way to the prison by now. Aaron will probably get it tomorrow.

He'll read it and maybe understand, maybe not. He's her brother, she hopes he'll empathise. He, more than anyone, knows what it's like to just have to run. 

It wasn't a literary masterpiece; she wrote it fast, clumsily, wrote it like she was screaming into the void. It took a few attempts and it was a little more coherent than what she left Robert but she read it back and it made no sense, and to be honest, that was more fitting than any structure.

It was hard to write, but she didn't cry. She almost did, but she didn't.

 

 _Stad-bus._ It's Gaelic for _bus stop_.

She waits in pathetic sunshine, bag on her back, avoiding eye contact with anyone. The sky is grey, bleeding into blue.

She tries not to think of Robert, of Robert's face watching that video. She'd messaged it him with no caption, no explanation. What a thing to wake up to.

 

-

 

The bus is full of university students so Liv takes a seat next to a young man with dark skin and earphones firmly in place. He's an art student, sketchbook on his lap and a pencil in his hand, running its way over the paper in delicate, thought-out strokes. It's therapeutic to watch. It helps her take her mind off of things.

She used to love drawing; it's all she ever used to do. It was a good way to both improve her skills and annoy the shit out of Robert, placing his face onto various cartoon animals. Aaron would snicker and turn the page and Robert would seeth in the corner, trying to hide his jealousy.

She used to be horrible to Robert. Fuck. Some of the things she's said to him would sit perfectly comfortably in her dad's, _Gordon's_ mouth, under his tongue.

But Robert forgave her; Robert forgave her, and she thinks he loves her now, and she—she could love him.

 

It's weird. She used to get it bad whenever she looked at Aaron, when she hugged him; hell, even with Chas sometimes. Less with Robert but she understood why. Especially at the start. She had turned up and now Aaron loved her the most—he couldn't love Robert in that wholesome, all-encompassing way that Robert loved him.

She liked it at first, being somebody's number one. But then she kept messing up and realised that it hurt Aaron even more, more than it would have otherwise, and that made things worse. It was like—treading through a minefield or something, trying not to misstep. That's how loving Aaron made you feel.

And then Liv looked at Robert and realised: maybe that's why he did the things he did.

It made her go cold. It turned her to ice.

Because Robert was just: Robert. He did stupid shit and he said stupid shit and made Aaron cry sometimes, but then he'd look at him like he was the centre of his world and it made Aaron melt. It also made Liv hate him. He didn't _get_ to do that, he just _didn't_ ; it wasn't fair.

But then he started looking at Liv like that too—sometime around her dad's, _Gordon's_ funeral, where she cried into her jumper sleeves—and she'd felt the earth move. He had too. Their planets had fallen into orbit.

(And then she got him arrested.

See what I mean about minefields?)

 

Things settled down a bit after that. Well, 'settled down' as far as Aaron-and-Robert settling down goes. They bought a house and only broke up like, twice, either side of nearly dying in a car accident. But they were engaged and then they got married and Robert looked her in the eyes and promised her she was staying put, and it sounded honest. Like he was actually trying for _her,_ not just for Aaron. Like he actually _wanted_ to try.

But now Aaron's in prison, and Robert's always white with stress and sometimes he grits his teeth when she talks to him.

Her mum did that a lot, so Liv ran away. It was the only way to stop seeing it.

And that's what she's doing now.

 

"You alright, love?" the student says.

Liv blinks; her face feels wet. She thinks she might be crying again.

She pulls her sleeve over her hand and dabs at her eyes. "Yeah," she says. "I'm fine."

 

-

 

Her phone starts freaking out again as the bus pulls onto her mum's road. It buzzes so loudly and so fiercely that Liv has to mute it to stop drawing looks.

It's Robert, for the twelveth time today. Like she'll pick up this time after eleven attempts.

At first she ignores it, but it strikes her when she's passing the corner shop that shit, Robert has no clue where she is and she never went out with the intention to hurt him. The opposite, really. She did all of this to help.

So she replies; she texts him,  _don't panic, i'm safe. i'm at my mum's_ and hits send.

The calls stop after that. Liv doesn't know what that's supposed to mean.

 

-

 

Her mum is at home, her car is parked in the driveway. It's a quaint little house, with white windowsills and a potted plant by the door. She stands at the foot of the steps and breathes; her hands are shaking, her legs are shaking. It isn't supposed to be this scary. It's supposed to be a relief. She crossed an ocean with Robert's credit card to get here; it isn't what she wanted but it's what is right, and that makes it okay. That is supposed to make it feel okay.

 

"Olivia?"

Sandra's gone grey at the roots. She stands in the doorway, holding herself, letting all the heat out of the house.

The wind whistles, loud and insistent. Liv feels her throat dry up. "Mum."

"Oh, Liv," she sighs; her eyes are very dark. "What the hell have ya done?"

Liv lets out a long, shaky breath and digs her fingernails into her palm. She is so, so tired of feeling sad.

 

Mum hugs her; she feels light and hollow, like a baby bird. She's wearing a thin purple jumper and her hair smells unwashed.

"Sweetheart," she breathes, into Liv's hair. Everything about her is vibrating. "I wish you'd called me."

"I didn't have time," Liv says. "I didn't think."

Sandra pets her like a puppy and runs a finger down her cheek. "'s okay," she says. "It's okay."

 

It's messy, inside. Not an organised mess like Liv's room, but a neglected, thriving mess. There are no photos on the walls.

Liv sits in the front room and inhales a mug of tea while Sandra throws together a sandwich with half-stale bread and cheese. It doesn't taste nice but Liv didn't realise how hungry she is and it's turned to crumbs before Sandra's even sat down.

"So," Sandra begins, sitting down opposite her daughter, brushing invisible creases from her jeans. "What's been happening in Emmerdale?"

Liv freezes. "I told ya everything. About—my brother."

The air goes stale; Sandra blinks, like Liv's just sworn at her. "Yeah, but that was a while ago. How's he doing?"

She doesn't want to tell her truth. She came here to escape all that: Aaron's bloodshot eyes, Robert's gritted teeth. The smell of weed that seemed to stick to her clothes when she left.

So she lies. "I think he's okay."

And Sandra nods; there's steel in her eyes. Liv thinks that she doesn't really want to talk about it, either.

 

-

 

Sandra is nice. The cat is nice, the one with a dodgy paw and green eyes.

The house is nice, once Liv's tidied up a bit. It has a big garden and a corner shop next door.

 

Everything feels wobbly. Sandra is smiling too much and sometimes her eyes are a bit too wide to be natural.

But she is smiling, and that's more that what can be said for the people back in the village. So Liv would much rather be here.

 

The first few hours feel horribly on edge. Liv walks around, tries to familiarise herself with her new bedroom and the curve of the staircase and the way the light filters in through the blinds, before opening the back door and letting the cat out. It's sunny but there's no heat; the chill rips through her and she invites it.

Her heart twitches every time she hears a car; she constantly looks over the gate, expects to see somebody there to pick her up, take her home. Nobody does, though. It's just her mum's rusty Peugeot and nothing else.

And the neighbours are really, really nice. Siobhan, the girl who works in the shop, smiles at her and doesn't care when Liv's twenty cents short for a pint of milk. A cluster of kids spot her at the park and introduce themselves: they all have weird names and one girl has very red lips, bright eyes. She looks like Gabby.

 

Things don't really kick off until three o'clock.

Her phone rings and for once, it isn't Robert. A number flashes across the screen, one she vaguely recognises but not enough to bring a face to mind. She presses the little green button and—

 

"Liv," her brother snarls, with unadulterated anger. "What the _fuck_ do ya think you're doing?"

 

-

 

She barely gets three words out before she's crying. "Aaron—"

"No. No, let me," he says. God, he's angry. He hasn't called for a while; he used to every chance he got but then Robert forgot to top up his account that one time and he took it personally. "Ya about gave Robert a heart attack. Taking off in the middle of the night like that? Leaving him a _video_? Are ya off your head?"

She swallows, uneasily. Her phone shakes in her hand. "I'm sorry."

"You're _sorry_ ," he scoffs, incredulous. "Sorry doesn't help ya, Liv. It doesn't help any of us."

Liv curls into herself and drops her head. There are little damp circles appearing on her jeans. 

"Where are ya?" he demands.

"At me mum's," she says, looking out of the window. It's starting to rain.

His silence is confused. "Ya _hate_ it at ya mum's." 

"No, I don't."

"Yes ya do. Ya always complain whenever ya go over there."

He doesn't get it, she doesn't expect him to. She can't hate it now. She doesn't have anything to go back to anymore. "Well, I'm here now. Not much ya can do."

"What _you_ can do is get your arse on a plane and _go home_."

"I _am_ home." The words drop like pennies, into a stream. They sink and sink and Aaron feels them.

He chooses his next question carefully, steps over it. "Has Robert said sommat to ya? Has he upset ya, Liv, cause if he has—"

"No," she says, then winces. Hurting someone by accident is still hurting them. 

"Okay, okay," he says. "So ya just decided ya fancied a holiday, is that it?"

It's awful; it's the same grating tone Gordon used, when she didn't do what he wanted. It makes her stomach scrunch itself up. 

"I wanted to go somewhere else." There is no better way to phrase it, she thinks. "Just for a while."

"What, another _country_?"

"I didn't—"

"And without telling anyone?" 

"I did tell him, I left a vid—"

"Oh yeah, the _video_ ," he snaps. The blood in his veins is running too fast. She hears him take a long, painful sigh and then his voice gets really loud, face smushed against the phone. "Fuck's sake, Liv. Ya were supposed to be _good_."

That hurts. Robert got shot once, took a bullet through his chest, near his heart. She thinks that feels something like this.

So she spits, "So were you." She wishes she knew the right thing to say. "Ya promised me ya wouldn't do anything stupid."

"That's none of your business, Liv."

"Robert's been trying so _hard_ to get your appeal running and then ya just screwed it all up—"

" _Liv_."

"—just cause, what, it got a bit difficult?" 

"I'm managing," he says, and that scares her more than anything. More than Gordon, more than this. She knows how he manages things. "But you, Liv—ya can't do this, ya can't just _run away_ when things get a bit hard—"

She bubbles over, like a pan on a stove. "You're a drug addict! What are _you_ talking about?"

 

An automatic voice cuts in: his account's running low. He takes a deep, sniffly breath. "Tell me what's going on," he says. "The truth."

Liv bites her lip. "What d'ya want to know?"

"I— everything, Liv. Please."

She closes her eyes and opens them again; how does she tell him about it? Being at the centre of a firestorm? "Aaron—"

"How bad are things, really?" he asks. "Me mum sounded awful today. She sounded like she hasn't slept in weeks."

She probably hasn't; Robert's lack of sleep shows on his face, in every wrinkle and every sag, but Chas has a makeup bag and thirty years of experience in covering it all up. 

"It's horrible," she whispers. "It's horrible, all the time. It used to be okay but things've just. I dunno."

The line goes quiet for a bit. She thinks he might be crying, trying to stop himself.

Eventually he speaks; the words are blobs, suspended in air. "What's going on, Liv?"

And it spills out of her then, like tears or vomit or whatever unpleasant bodily fluid you want to think about. She didn't mean to dam it up: she's been trying not to. But it's like tapping a spring or something; the tension breaks and she just—implodes.

Aaron listens. She thinks, at some points, that he's going to interrupt and tell her that it's okay, that it's not her fault, but he doesn't. He just listens. Liv has always struggled with seeing him as  _steady_ but there are moments sometimes, like this, where he's so, so solid.

 

Sandra pokes her head round the door. She doesn't seem to blink at Liv's tears.

"Someone's calling for you, love," she says. "I think it's Chas."

Liv looks up. Of course it's Chas; why would it be somebody who makes sense? You think she'd be happy about it all: her son's irritating little sister, finally out of the way and she didn't even have to ask.

The kettle boils. Sandra gestures, expectant.

"Tell her I'm in the shower," she decides on. 

Sandra nods and disappears, and Liv returns the phone to her ear. The call is still going, but it's fallen eerily quiet.

"Aaron?"

"I'm here," he says, immediate. "Still here." The edges of the words are missing, taken off through clenched teeth. "I've gotta go soon, though, 'm getting funny looks."

"You'll call me tomorrow, though?" she asks, pleading slightly. 

She can almost hear his nod. "Course," he says. "Liv—thank you. Ya shouldn't have had to feel like ya had to keep stuff from me. I know ya think you were helping, and I'm sure Robert thinks that too, but," He trails off, but the words echo down the line: he is so sick of being lied to. It's all he's had, his entire life. 

"I know," she says. "I'm sorry."

He sighs. "It's okay."

It's not, but what else was he going to say?

 

His account empties, the call cuts off with a harsh beep. Liv's used to things ending suddenly so she pockets her phone and goes and strokes the cat. Her fingers bunch up in its fur and it stretches out across her lap then falls asleep. She envies, almost, how quickly it managed to do that.

 

-

 

She's in the bathroom, sat on the edge of the tub. Her hand shakes as she paints.

Nail polish is not usually her thing, but Gabby gave it to her and if Gabby says it works, then it probably does.

She isn't tidy. It strays out of the lines and coats her cuticles and when she sticks her hand out, it's not so much painted nails but sticky smudges. The black is horrible; it stains everything, makes it look like she doesn't care.

The only time she ever painted her nails, she painted them bright blue, like the sky. It felt like her. This feels just like Gabby said it would; it makes her feel older, like someone else. Someone who isn't afraid. It's slightly alarming so she wipes it off, but it's nice to know that it's there, in case she ever needs it.

 

"I'm glad ya got there okay," Gabby says, her hair up in a towel. She moves fragmentarily across the screen, parts of her face dragging behind. 

Liv picks at lodged flecks of polish and shrugs. "Done it loads of times before."

"Yeah, but—" she begins. Liv's eyes flash. "Yeah, I guess ya have."

It goes quiet, uncomfortably so. Gabby chews her bottom lip and Liv's known her long enough to know what that means.

"What?"

Gabby sighs. "Robert."

"What about him?" The images that come to mind are similar to what used to whenever she heard his name: loudness, anger. 

"Me and Laurel were in the pub, eating and he came in and—Liv, he looked really bad."

Liv frowns; the sympathetic twang to Gabby's voice has never been there before. She never imagined it would be there talking about Robert, of all people. "Why? Has sommat happened with Aaron? You'd tell me if sommat did, right?"

"Of course," Gabby nods, before peering at her. She's all pixels, not fully there. "Liv, he was freaking out about _you_. He came over to our table and asked me if I knew anything."

Liv's heart jumps into her mouth. "What did ya tell him?"

"Nothing," Gabby says. "I told him ya hadn't talked to me."

"Okay. Okay, thanks."

She's about to change the subject but Gabby's quicker. "His head's looking better," she says, knowingly. "It's healing."

Liv does her best not to wince at the memory and nods. "It were just a dizzy spell. He'll be fine." That was how he'd described it, anyway: Liv describes it more as him standing up to get another drink, then going down like a sack of spuds. He hit his head on the edge of the bar and it ricocheted, the noise, the crack. It was so fast and over so quickly. 

He's had headaches ever since. Bad ones, the type that debilitate you. He's also refusing to go to the hospital because he's a selfish dickhead and he never listens to anybody.

(She told Aaron all of this, back during that phone call. 

She cried buckets as she told him and it struck her then, just how fucked up it was. It struck Aaron too; she could hear it down the phone, his heart falling out of him, shattering into splinters on the floor.)

 

Evening approaches, and so do the stars. The video chat is running up a dastardly phone bill.

"Is it fun?" asks Gabby. Her hair is wet, spidery, falling down her shoulders like rope. "Running away, properly."

"Not really," Liv says. "It's a lot more hassle than I thought it would be." She didn't expect it to be easy, but she didn't expect it to be this, either. To feel a stab in the chest with every phone call she rejected.

"I want to, sometimes," Gabby swallows. "But I can't."

Liv sighs and tries not to imagine what things will be like when Ashley finally goes. Liv's dad died but he deserved it, as much as it hurt. Ashley doesn't deserve it, not in a million years. 

Sandra knocks on the bathroom door; it makes them both jump. "Liv?" she says. There's a knot in her throat. "Can ya come out here?"

Liv shrugs. "Talk to ya later, Gabs."

 

"What's up?" Liv frowns. The hallway is bright; her coat is hung on the bannister of the stairs. The downpour outside sounds closer, like someone's shifted the clouds forward.

Sandra doesn't say anything. Her arms are wrapped around herself and her eyes are wide. Everything's very cold, the front door is wide open and—

Liv looks forward, down the corridor, and sees Robert Sugden stood there in the rain.

 

-

 

He looks different now. Not in a good way; there are dark circles under his eyes and the bruise on his browbone is a putrid yellowy colour, but he sees her and his whole face changes. His chest unclenches and his shoulders fall and he looks like he's just—glowing from the inside, and then he clamps his open mouth shut, like he can't afford to let her see it: the relief, the way it washes over him, cleanses him through.

Fuck.

"Robert," Liv says. It's like she needs to make sure he's real. She'd imagined what he'd be doing right now, earlier; pictured him turning his phone off and thinking,  _finally_. Curling up on the couch and immediately going to sleep, drinking much-needed rest. Thanking every god and deity that he was finally spared the mess that is his husband's awful, messed-up hurricane of a little sister.

But he's here, on her mum's doorstep, boarding pass sticking out of his pocket. He's shivering, ever so slightly.

"Oh, Liv," he breathes and it's—it's like he's seen a flat-line spike. Like he's just seen light after too long in the dark. "Thank god."

 

Sandra invites him in then promptly goes upstairs.

Robert walks into the living room, his hair leaving a trail of drips on the carpet. His face is sharp and angular and Liv's not sure if it's the lighting or not.

He says, "I'm sorry it took me so long." His voice is thick with fatigue. "It took ages to catch a flight, what with the lunchtime rush and everything. And there was an accident on the motorway."

Liv lifts her head and blinks. This—isn't what she was expecting. "It's fine."

Robert breathes out and nods, looks around. He was probably anticipating the place to be a dump and it kind of is. He's tall enough to hit the light fixture.

Suddenly Liv is terrified. Suddenly her hands are slippery, trembling. She wipes them on her jeans.

 

"You're not gonna kick off?" she says, cautious. Her brain had offered images of flying plates and red faces when she thought about going home, but now home is here and it's thrown everything sideways.

Robert's brow twitches then smooths. "I don't have the energy," he says. It's oddly reassuring, the honesty of his tone. "I wanted to sleep on the flight, but—no chance."

Liv almost smiles. He's such a shit flyer.

"And," he continues, "I don't want to, Liv. You don't need it."

She bites down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood; it immediately tastes like metal in her mouth. "I'm sorry," she says, weakly. "I'm so sorry."

There's a moment. It stretches out: Liv's breath loud in her ears, Robert looking at her with this peculiar fondness that makes her feel like the scared little kid she knows she really is. Liv has never had time to develop a superiority complex; every time she's had chance to feel big and strong, it's been torn away from her like ripping paper.

Then something on Robert's face, inside his chest, breaks open and he steps forward, opens his arms wide. Tentative, like he expects her to run for the hills. She doesn't.

He gives good hugs. Surprisingly so. Before she knew him properly, Liv always expected him to be horribly hard and stiff, like cardboard; but he's not. He's warm and he's comfortable and he still smells like himself: faded cologne and strong coffee and stress. Dublin smells foreign but this doesn't. 

She feels his lips move against her hair. "You don't need to be sorry, Liv."

Her eyes water, quickly and painfully. "I scared ya, didn't I?"

"Yeah," he sighs. "Yeah, you did. You scared the hell out of me." He steps back and a hand runs down her hair. "But you're alright."

"I can't believe ya flew over here," she says. 

He attempts a smile and says, "Me neither. But I—I had to make sure you got here safe. You know Aaron would brain me if anything happened to you."

He would. Even from prison, he'd find a way; she remembers the way he'd asked her in that call, the tightness of his voice. Aaron would do crazy, stupid things for her and it's a lot of power to have. She'd struggled to stop the cat from running away earlier, never mind be the person for whom Aaron would run headfirst into bedlam for.

Liv sniffs. The rain is picking up, hammering down like nails. "Are you, er—" she tries, looking helplessly towards the door.

He blinks, looks offended for a second before it melts away. "I don't know. I didn't really think about—what I was gonna do after." He buries his hands into his pockets. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

 

She makes them a drink each. They are English, after all; anything can be solved over a cup of tea.

He is so, so tired. It shows on his face but she didn't notice it until now, seeing him sat on the couch, his blazer ill-fitting and his belt pulled tight. He looks like a ghost, like he's floating away bit by bit. 

"Do you like it here?" he asks. "Are you happy?" Then he winces, and adds, "I know it's not the—well, the best of circumstances."

Liv swallows, unfurls her clasped fingers. "Not really. But it's not like I'm doing cartwheels at home, so," she says, like a confession. It feels blasphemous; she prays her mum isn't listening in. "It's really hard."

"I know," he says. "I get it. I miss him too."

But it's more than that; it's everything. It's the little things that spit in her face every day. It's the empty spot at the dinner table and the constant twist in Chas' face and the way Robert sometimes hurts so much that he can't see.

She sips from her mug and says, "No. I mean, I—that's not why. Everything is just too much sometimes, y'know?"

"I do," he says, like he means it. His voice is slow and even.

Liv bumps her shoulder against his. "I feel good here," she admits. It's not completely true but it could be, if she gave it time. "I'm starting to, I think."

He looks at her, startled. "Really?"

She doesn't want to cry again, not in front of him. She's never seen him cry and she realises that's probably why he ends up like this: ill, angry like a shaken up bottle. 

"It's, erm," she begins, arranging the words on her tongue. "I don't want to go back just 'cause of Aaron."

"What do you mean?" he asks, frowning. 

She knows it's small and petty and totally the wrong priority, but she doesn't want Robert to hate her like she thinks her mum does sometimes, when she's trying not to resent Liv's existence, which has ruined enough things. "I love him, right, I love him so much. But he's not here anymore. He's not here, and I—I don't want to stick around just because—"

She trails off. It's hard to explain. Robert's doing his best to understand but she can tell by the crease of his brow he's struggling. She drinks and sighs and swipes at the rims of her eyes.

"I don't want ya to deal with me just 'cause ya feel ya have to," she eventually says. It comes out in one solid rush, and feels like something nuclear going off.

 

Robert has no words. He has this look in his eyes, this sort of quiet dawning realisation; she and he aren't related but they have the same face, sometimes.

"I don't feel like I have to," he says, simply.

"Yes ya do," she argues. She drops her eyes to the swirl of the tea in the mug and refuses to look at anything else.

"No, Liv—" he begins, puts his cup on the coffee table and shuffles in further. Everything about him looks small, breakable, like he'll crumble into pieces on the sofa at any minute. "I don't."

Liv's chin trembles; she clamps her teeth down her tongue and swallows. "Everything you've ever said says ya do."

He sighs, sounding defeated like he does whenever Aaron challenges him. Liv balls her fists in her jumper and expects the worst but then his voice goes low and he says, "Maybe at the start, I did. But not now."

The start was messy. It was messy and angry and they took chunks out of each other. If you'd told Liv this time last year that she'd be sat this close to Robert Sugden and not trying to hurt him, she'd look at you funny. 

He carries on. "You're important, Liv. You're so important."

"'m not," she mumbles.

"You _are_ ," he says, and his voice is hard, forceful, like he'd hammer the words into her head if he could. "And not just 'cause you're Aaron's sister, I— right, look at me." She does, nervously; his eyebrows are raised and he looks so focused, so sure. "You think Aaron would've gotten through—a _tenth_ of that trial if he hadn't had found you?"

The trial leaves a bitter taste in her mouth; she still has nightmares about it. Aaron does too, sometimes, bad ones and now he doesn't have a Robert to wake up to and tell him things are okay. That makes her feel sick, sometimes. The thought of him in that prison bunk, too long for the mattress. Unconsciously groping for someone who isn't there.

"I screwed that up," she says. "I almost ruined everything."

"No, you didn't," he says, kindly. "You were manipulated, Liv, you were a kid. That wasn't your fault."

"I hated him," she says, quietly, ashamed. "I _wanted_ to ruin it. I can't imagine ever hating him now but I know I did."

Robert shakes his head, like he finds the concept just as impossible. He could never hate Aaron, she thinks; it's one of those impossible things in life. "It's not your fault," he repeats. "He doesn't blame you for any of it, Liv. He's told me himself and I know he's told you."

"He could've been lying."

"Like he could ever lie to you."

It's weird; they have never talked honestly, not since the funeral. About Aaron, yes—about Aaron, they have bared their hearts. But nothing else.

She's crying. No sobs or noises, just hot tears sneaking down her cheeks. "Ya shouldn't have to make me feel better," she says, suddenly. Her mind is all mixed up and nothing makes sense anymore. "You've got enough on your plate."

He rubs her back, very gently. "I'll worry about you before I worry about me," he counters.

She flinches, thinks about that time he had a headache so bad they had to turn all the lights off. "That shouldn't be how it works."

"Of course it should." His hand is slow and rhythmic and it's calming, slightly. Almost a hug but not quite. "I'm looking after you, Liv. I _want_ to look after you. I want to put you first." Then his hand stills and his voice goes quiet and he says, "I know I've been doing a—pretty bad job at that, lately."

Maybe he has, she wouldn't know. He's just kind of pretended she wasn't there and that's no different to what Sandra used to do, so Liv blinked and took it in her stride. 

"It's okay," she tells him.

"No, it's not," he says, firm. "I made a promise to Aaron and all that but, believe it or not, I do actually care about you. As much as I slag you off sometimes."

 

 

Their eyes meet and it coaxes light into hers; but then she focuses on that lump on his forehead and it fades, quickly as it had come. 

He's pale and thin and he's ill, _so_ ill. Not even her brother ever looked this bad.

 

"I should stay," Liv says. "I should—I  _want_ to stay."

Robert stares at her; he has sharp eyes most of the time, but now they're hazy, glistening almost. "Do you really?"

She sighs, looks around at anything but him. The television, the raindrops on the window. "I think so."

"You _think_ ," he echoes. At first she thinks he's mocking her, but then she sees that fuck, he's welling up. "You never wanted to before."

She bites her lip, keeps all her explanations in:  _I'm a burden, I cause trouble, I don't want to get under your feet._  

"Would it be alright if I stayed?"

He blinks three times, quickly, and nods. "Of course it would," he says. It sounds like acquiescence.

 

Robert walks out the front door, doesn't close it behind him. His shoulders are in a miserable slope; the downpour has soaked him through and his hair is standing up in miserable little tufts. He looks like a sad fluffy rodent—like a rat caught in the rain.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He must sense her behind him because he says, "Can you give me your mum's number?"

She reels it off, he punches it in.

"Right," he begins. "Erm. I'm just a phone call away, if you ever need me."

She nods. "I know."

"And, erm, I'll ring school and tell them what's going on—"

"Robert," she interrupts. "I got expelled."

He pauses, frowning at nothing like he's trying to put something together in his head. "Oh yeah," he then says, with recollection. Her chest suddenly hurts; forgetting things. That has never been anything good.

It starts to tear at her, the reality of the situation. She has said goodbye to so many people but it never gets any easier. "Have a good flight, yeah?"

He scoffs, bitterly. "The words _good_ and _flight_ don't belong in the same sentence."

"Try and sleep," she offers. He glances at her: it'll be impossible, for both of them, tonight.

"Right," he begins, rummages through his pockets to check he has everything. His hands are shaking. "I'm seeing Aaron tomorrow. What should I tell him?"

Liv sets her jaw and says, "Let him know it were my choice. Don't let him have a go at ya." She pauses and adds, "Do ya think he'll call me or—will he blank me again?"

"I'll ask him to," he says, says it like a promise. "I'll tell him to."

"Thank you," she smiles up at him. The streetlamp dyes him orange against the night sky. 

 

He hugs her again, desperately, like the world would end if he didn't.

"Stay safe," he says, into her hair. "And you can come back at any time, yeah? You don't even need to call, just—I'm here, okay?"

She nods. "Okay." She feels like she could believe him.

 

- 

 

The door slam sounds permanent. It shakes the coats on the pegs and the cutlery in the kitchen drawer. 

"Ya can come out now, mum," Liv calls up the stairs; Sandra emerges seconds later, cast in shadow, obviously having overheard every word. Liv suppresses a bitter smirk at the newfound explanation for her own eavesdropping habits and looks up, expectant.

"You're staying, then?" Sandra asks. 

Liv doesn't need to think before answering. She doesn't allow herself to. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I am."

 

-

 

"Liv," Sandra says. She's sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea, watching soap operas. "Can I have a word?"

Liv blinks; never a good start. "Sure," she says, sitting next to her.

Sandra looks tired. The dusky lighting of the living room accentuates her wrinkles, the scowl lines on her forehead.

She pulls her phone out of her back pocket, turns it over in her fingers. "I just got a call from your Robert."

All the air rushes out of Liv's lungs. She gorms a bit before saying, "Yeah, I gave him your number. I—didn't expect him to call so quickly."

"Well, he just called to say that he's—well, that he'll miss ya, and he's sorry? I'm not sure what he's sorry for, I didn't ask. But I'm guessing ya know."

She does know. She knows all too well. Sometimes, it feels like Robert is always apologising.

"He's freaking out without Aaron around," she says.

Sandra asks, "Isn't everyone?"

Liv bites her lip, thinks about the appeal and the sleepless nights and the thud of his body landing on the floor. "Yeah, but, Robert especially."

"That's grief for ya," Sandra says. There's a weird empathy to her voice. "How long's Aaron in for again? Twelve months?"

"Yeah." 

"From the look of Rob earlier, I'd be surprised if he makes it that long." Then she looks down at Liv and her eyes are calm, calmer than Liv's ever really seen them. "Love—the last thing he needs is you leaving him like this."

Liv feels something in her stomach rupture. "It's not all about him."

Sandra reaches down and holds her hand; she doesn't feel different. Her skin feels the same as always.

"I know," she says. "But the last thing _you_ need is to be away from him, too."

 

Liv starts to cry, for what feels like the millionth time that day. Loud this time, too, loud and messy. She isn't sure how many breakdowns you can have in twenty-four hours but she must be reaching the cut-off point by now.

"I wanted my _mum_ ," she says, weakly.

Sandra buckles. "Oh, Liv, don't," she says, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close. "It's alright, I know ya did. It's alright."

The thing is that it isn't; it won't ever be again.

Aaron's in prison and Robert's ill and she's here, sobbing into her mum's arms, wishing that the planet would stop turning. Just for a little while, so she could catch her breath.

Liv sniffs, wipes her nose with her sleeve. "So, ya—ya want me to go back?"

Sandra smiles at her, weak, like sunshine through a grimy window. "I want ya to be happy. I want ya to be _safe_ , Liv, and I want ya to be stable."

"Nothing's stable for me," Liv says. "Not anymore."

"I know, love," Sandra says; the corners of her eyes are wet and red. "I hate that. I never wanted that for ya."

The television buzzes in the background, competing with the thrum of falling rain outside. It sounds like pebbles falling on the roof.

Sandra strokes Liv's hair, gingerly, and says, "I know ya wanted to see me. And I'm grateful, Liv, I love having ya here. But wouldn't it be best if you were with—" she gestures for the words.

Liv breathes, deep. "Why does everyone think they know what's best for me?"

"We don't, sweetheart," Sandra says, kissing the top of Liv's head. She smells like kitchen grease and stress. "Only you know that. There's a big difference between what ya want and what's best for ya, though."

 

"Ya think I should go back, don't ya?" Liv's teeth are clenched, the words crumble as they fall out.

Sandra blinks and says, "You're so strong, Liv. Ya need to be strong for them—Aaron and that Robert. I think they need ya now, more than—"

"More than you?"

"More than anything."

Liv doesn't have a reply for that, so she burrows her face into her mum's neck. It hurts her head, her back: the weight of other people's worlds on her shoulders. She's too young and she's carried it too often.

"Stay the night," Sandra offers. "Sleep on it."

Liv looks up and dries her eyes. "Mum—" she begins.

"Liv," Sandra says, kindly. Liv doesn't ever remember her mum being this kind. "I'll always be here. It's okay, love. I'm not going anywhere."

 

Her bag is still unpacked. It's near the legs of her new bed, glaring at her. Daring her to open everything up.

Sandra is changing the sheets. She unfolds and whips out the undersheet; it parachutes down to the mattress gracefully. "It's not the Ritz, but it's more comfortable than your old one."

Liv steps forward and kisses her cheek. "Thanks, mum. For everything."

"Don't thank me, love," she says. "I'm your mum. It's me job."

"Ya promise you're not mad at me?" Liv asks, flinching slightly at the selfishness of the question. 

Sandra softens and says, "I'm more proud of you than anything." She says it in the way she used to talk to her before things started going wrong, when Liv wore her hair down and went to primary school. When she didn't know the world had teeth and claws.

 

"Ya should ring Robert," Sandra suggests. "Tell him to expect ya."

Liv scrunches her nose up and says, "It's a bit naff, isn't it? Telling him all that then going straight back the next day."

"He'll understand," Sandra says. "He seems like a decent chap."

"Sometimes he is." Liv shrugs her pillows into their cases and fluffs them up. "Other times he's just a pain."

And Sandra smirks, plants a kiss on top of Liv's head and says, "Sound familiar?"

Liv shoves her, playfully. "Shut up."

 

-

 

Liv's used to running. It's a Livesy thing, she thinks; though Aaron isn't a Livesy anymore and neither will she be, if she can do anything about it. Maybe that can be his surprise, when he gets out: his little sister, now by name as well as nature.

 

Sandra books an early flight. Eight in the morning arrival, when Robert will probably be hungover or asleep or unconscious or all three. But that doesn't matter, because she knows that as soon as he sees her, he'll be up like a shot and at the door, looking more awake and alive than he has in a while. 

She's sat in the living room, jacket on her shoulders and bag dangling from her hand. It's very early, the sky is just waking up. Sandra is sat on the couch and so is she, sprawled next to her mum, enjoying the few minutes of tranquillity before everything gets tossed into the air again. 

"Do ya think you'll come back?" Sandra asks, gently. "If things get tough again?" She pauses. "I'm not saying ya have to, I don't want to pressure ya. Just wondering."

Liv thinks and says, "I dunno. I do miss ya, when I'm over there."

Sandra sighs. "Yeah, I know. I miss you too."

"I'll visit," Liv says, quickly, and looks up at her so she can be sure that she knows.

Sandra drops a kiss to the crown of her head. "I know, darling." She rubs her arm, warm and loving. "And if ya ever want to stay for a bit longer—"

She sighs and sinks further into her mum's arms. "I think," she starts. "Maybe. If everyone's okay with it."

"Alright," Sandra says. The world outside the window yawns, waiting for them. "I think we can manage that."

**Author's Note:**

> lyrics from [tigercub](https://genius.com/Tigercub-pictures-of-you-lyrics). i'm on [tumblr](http://turnerkanes.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi!


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